Cocooned
by IvoryWhiskers
Summary: Dean only really and truly loses his shit once in purgatory. (Wingfic)


Disclaimer: Obviously don't own it.

A/N: Not much to say about this, call it pre-slash, one sided Destiel, just friends whatever, just Cas wrapping Dean in his wings =) Much as I love Destiel, I'm more inclined to believe that Castiel is in love with Dean.

Dean only really and truly loses his shit once in purgatory. It's not ideal and they could be attacked at any given moment but his mind and body are exhausted and all of a sudden he can't breathe. The tight, constricting feeling that began in his stomach is rising, consuming him and snowballing out of control. The walls of the tiny cave they are sheltering in are too close, too claustrophobic and the place is strategically stupid to rest in and part of him knows it. Same as he knows Benny and Castiel know it too, same as he knows they are simply unable to get him anywhere else so for now this will have to suffice.

Three endless days of running, fighting and bleeding without reprise have lead to this and have utterly wrecked Dean. The onslaught of monsters had been relentless and their attackers had been cunning; far too organised for anyone's liking and the whole thing reeked of scheming leviathans. Since Benny doesn't need sleep in purgatory - and Castiel has never required it - their bodies ache and burn but remain functional, their minds clear. Dean on the hand can barely stand, can barely think and every muscle is screaming, tiredness clawing and ripping at lids that are forced to stay open.

One glance at the state Dean is in and Benny volunteers to take watch outside the cave, leaving the second biggest-monster magnet of purgatory in the care of the first.

In the cave Dean's knees buckle and he doesn't register the firm hands that prevent his fall and instead guide him carefully to the damp floor; too focussed on the insistent and suddenly seemingly unnatural sound of his heart pumping faster and faster. His chest feels crushed and he struggles to draw in air, shivering from the bone deep cold that is purgatory's constant temperature, even as his skin burns like lit holy oil.

He doesn't know how long he sits for, how long it is before his mind stops torturing itself and the tight feeling in his chest recedes and he can finally gasp great breaths of air without fighting the urge to vomit. It takes longer than it should to process his surroundings and the first thing that strikes him is the warmth. For the first time since he arrived here he is pleasantly warm and it has nothing to do with running or fighting. He is sat crossed legged, leaning forwards, temple resting against rough, earthy smelling fabric. Dean blinks slowly, his blurred vision clearing as he looks down at two pairs of legs. He appears to be sat knee-to-knee with Castiel, whose hands lay placidly in his lap. Dean makes to move, to try to lean back or sit straight or stand up or just do anything other than sit pathetically on the ground. He instead only ends up tilting his chin to press his nose into the crook of Castiel's neck, breathing in the earthy scent he has acquired in this place. The smell clings to Castiel's clothes and skin, is more comforting than it should be and it helps to ground Dean as he breathes unevenly against his collarbone.

Dean doesn't feel the flex of Castiel's muscles that would indicate movement and he only shifts minutely but Dean feels pressure at his back, pressing him forward, holding him still and steady. Dean can't pin down the point of contact as the pressure seems to cover his back and sides too and he's positive Castiel hasn't moved his hands from their position between them. It takes him longer than it should to register the soft brush of feathers against the nape of his neck.

Cocooned in an angels wings, in a dark dank cave in the endless nightmare that is purgatory Dean can only let out a soft huff of laughter for the irony, for Castiel's gesture and for the sheer unfairness of it all. The laugh becomes a broken sob before it is bitten back, kept at bay by gritted teeth and held breath.

"God-damn it Cas, I can't do this." He expects to have to choke the words around the lump in his throat, but instead they fall in a broken whisper from cracked lips that stick in between words.

Castiel gives no verbal reply, choosing instead to sweep a wing in a comforting fashion down Dean's back before lifting it away. In conjunction with the movement his other wing curls around him almost entirely and pulls, gently but firmly, repositioning him to Castiel's left side. His right wing returns, oddly dexterous, pushing Dean to lean back into the feathers of the left that curls around his shoulder and presses him tightly to the angels side. Too tired to keep his eyes open, Dean lets his lids slide shut as he is supported entirely by Castiel's left wing, idly comparing his blurred glimpse of the feathery appendages to the plumage of a barn owl.

Soft, downy feathers ghost over his face before they arc up and curve to meet the other wing, effectively hiding the pair within a feathery canapé. The last thing Dean hears before he slips into unconsciousness is "I will watch over you," as the comforting weight of Castiel's head rests against his.


End file.
